Promised To The Sky
by The Patriette
Summary: Little Sif is taken in by Queen Frigga after her mother's death, to be raised as the Queen's ward alongside the two young princes of Asgard. No one expects that this small but quick-witted tomboy will become Asgard's mightiest shieldmaiden...and eventually its Queen. A blend of Norse mythology, the Marvel Cinematic Universe, and my own imagination.
1. The Little Lady Sif

The healing room was frighteningly dark. I wished they'd light a few more candles. But those who hide cannot easily choose the nature of their concealment—and anyway, too much light disturbed the ill and hurt. Even a little girl like myself knew that.

I huddled in a corner where no one could see me, half-concealed by the heavy brocade cloth draped over a round table atop which every potion and medicine available in Asgard sat on a glass tray. The mingling smells of musty herbs and sharp, peppermint-like magic stung my little nose. I rubbed it harshly with the back of my hand, trying to stem its running.

The ladies of the healing room hovered over the table-like bed where my mother lay, attached to the magical sensors that monitored her bodily functions. They spoke in hushed tones and their hands were gentle as they touched Mother's hair and the roundness of her belly. I crept a few inches from my hiding place, my eyes fastening, fearfully, on the transparent, information-filled screens above my mother's head.

I'd been watching for several hours now, long enough to be able to distinguish the marks that represented my mother's heartbeat from the baby's within her. My mother's heartbeat was so faint, it was hardly on the screen anymore. The baby's heartbeat disappeared altogether about an hour ago. That was why my nose was running; I'd started crying when the baby died.

_Father is dead. The baby is dead. If Mother dies . . ._

Before I could swallow it back, I let out a choked hiccup. One of the nurses lifted her head, as if she'd heard it. My heart jumped into my throat and I dropped the tablecloth. If I was discovered, they'd drag me out of my hiding place and probably tell me to run along—as if "running along" was so easy for a lonely, heartbroken child who, while a living soul for nigh on four hundred years now, had just barely attainted the stature of an eight-year-old Midgardian. I scrambled underneath the medicine table, jostling one of its legs as I did so. The medicine bottles above rattled noisily.

For a few moments I sat there with my back against the wall, my knees drawn up to my chest and my breath coming in desperate gasps. I couldn't hear anything that made me think I'd been noticed. I clapped both hands over my mouth and squeezed my eyes shut.

"_HIC!_"

My eyes flew open at the sound of my own very loud, high-pitched hiccup. But if the nurses heard it, they certainly weren't paying any attention anymore. I heard booted feet somewhere nearby, and then the sudden rustle of dozens of skirts.

_What's going on? _I moved carefully in my cramped space until my belly almost made contact with the cold floor; slowly, I lifted the hem of the tablecloth and peeked out.

The sight took my breath away. There, in the doorway of the healing room, stood the Queen with two guards on either side of her.

I ran my tongue over my dry lips, hardly daring to start breathing for fear that I'd hiccup again. Mother was one of the Queen's ladies-in-waiting . . . maybe that's why she came. I had only ever seen Queen Frigga from a distance myself: once, when the whole court gathered for the celebration of Prince Loki's birthday, and again a few weeks ago when Father was placed in his funeral barge and the Allfather and Queen Frigga paid their respects.

Mother was already ill by then. She collapsed from shock and grief when they brought Father back and hadn't recovered her strength enough to attend the funeral. From her sickbed she gave orders that I couldn't attend without her. So my old nursemaid, Ursa, held me up on our balcony to watch. As the entire court said goodbye to my father, who fell in battle on Ria, I wept in Ursa's shoulder.

That night, I cried myself to sleep. Or at least, that's what Ursa thought. My nurse had come into my chamber with one of the other maidservants; when I heard them come in, I closed my eyes and pretended to be asleep while the two women talked softly over me.

"The poor child," the maidservant whispered. "She is too small to be weeping into her pillow of a night."

"Aye," Ursa whispered, running her old hand over my golden hair. "And I fear she may have more tears yet to shed, if the Lady Astrid doesn't recover."

"No!" the maidservant cried. "You don't mean—"

"Aye," Ursa said again. "They say not even the Queen's deepest magic can cure a broken heart."

Sitting under the table and remembering that conversation as I gazed at the Queen, I confess my heart gave a hopeful leap. Maybe Ursa was wrong . . . maybe the Queen had come to work her magic on Mother! Maybe she really could heal a broken heart!

But the look on Queen Frigga's beautiful, regal face dashed those hopes in an instant. With a rustle of emerald-green skirts, the Queen descended the steps into the healing room and moved swiftly to Mother's side.

I moved accordingly, still peeking through the tablecloth. Queen Frigga ran her hand gently over Mother's forehead. Mother never stirred. Her heartbeats were coming very slow and far-apart now.

"The child?" Queen Frigga whispered.

"Long dead, Your Majesty."

"Delivered?"

"She had not the strength."

The Queen let out a sigh so heavy and full of sadness, my chest tightened in an overwhelming mix of horror, grief, and desperation. If the Queen had given up hope, then it was all over. My mother could not be saved. I would be an orphan, completely alone in the world.

I lowered my head and my small shoulders began to shake. Uncontrollable sobs twisted my abdomen and left my lungs burning for air. I sucked in the air with a shuddering gasp and let it out again with a choked, moaning little cry.

The tablecloth flew up with a snap before I could regain control of myself. I gasped and flew backward—and found myself looking into the face of the Queen of Asgard.

"What are you doing there, little one?" the Queen asked. Her voice was soft, but with just a hint of sternness that I dared not defy. I sniffed, wiped my eyes with the back of my hand, and drew my sprawling legs together in a more ladylike position.

"I—I—"

"Come here, child."

The Queen gestured with her hand for me to come forward. I hesitated only a moment, then crept forward on my hands and knees. The Queen held out both her hands; I grasped them, using them to pull myself to my feet.

But the Queen didn't stop there. Before I could speak, the Queen drew me close, pressing me against her side and keeping a hand on my shoulder. She smelled lovely, but more importantly she felt warm and safe. Slowly, she led me closer to the table where Mother lay. I glanced up and my throat tightened again at the sight of the blank screen.

_No heartbeat. _

Mother looked very white, but the tight, sad lines in her face had disappeared; she looked as if she were merely sleeping now. One of the nurses folded her hands lightly above her rounded stomach. Another arranged her hair on the pillow. I squeezed my eyes shut and felt a tear run down my cheek. I wiped it away with my fist, not caring to have the Queen to see me cry.

"Your mother," the Queen murmured, stroking my hair, "was a fair and noble lady. You know that, yes?"

My vision was blurry, but as I lifted my head and looked straight into the her green-blue eyes, I saw only compassion there—no stern disapproval of my tears or cold detachment. I nodded slowly, glancing over my shoulder again at my mother's body.

"Am I—" I began, then hesitated, the fear seizing my heart so tightly, I could hardly go on. "Am I going to go to the Orphans' House?"

Orphans were a rarity in Asgard, but there were a few. They were looked after in a large house near the coast. When an Asgardian died, his or her funeral barge sailed over the Great Waterfall—so perhaps that was why the House was so near to the water. The Orphans could feel closer to their parents.

I didn't want to live near the water. I didn't want to watch my mother go over the Waterfall and I didn't want the constant roaring of the sea breaking on the rocks to remind me that everyone I'd ever loved in my short life was dead. The sea was something to be feared, and I wanted nothing to do with it.

But I had no parents now, and so that was likely to be my fate.

The Queen stared long and hard at me after I'd uttered my question. She ran her hand over my hair, then tore her gaze from me and fastened it upon my mother. She drew a deep breath and rubbed my arm gently.

"No, child," she whispered, forcing a smile. "No . . . you shall come home with me."

* * *

><p>My mother's body was covered with a glimmering sheet of silver and gold, and the Queen drew me into the water room. With a soft rag she cleaned my red, blotchy face. One of her ladies, whom I hadn't noticed before, slipped into the room.<p>

"Is there anything I can fetch for you, my Queen?" she asked softly.

"Yes," the Queen said. "Run to the Lady Ingrid's home and bring me the child's cloak. Tell the nurse that she is discharged from her services—but that she must pack Lady Sif's clothing and belongings and send them straight to the palace."

"Yes, milady," the woman said. She curtsied, her skirts pooling on the stone floor, and then left.

I squinted as the Queen dabbed at my cheeks. In truth, I hadn't received a bath or much care at all since my father's funeral. Ursa had been so preoccupied with trying to care for my ailing mother, my care had fallen by the wayside. My little face warmed with embarrassment. My hair must be a state, my clothes in even worse condition.

"I—I'm sorry I look so horrid," I whispered.

The Queen met my eyes, surprised; then she smiled, let out a low, musical laugh. "You look far from 'horrid,' little one. A little unkempt, perhaps, but that will soon be mended."

I swallowed hard. "Am I going to take Mother's place?"

The Queen raised her eyebrows. "How do you mean?"

I searched for the proper words; I was talking to the Mother of the Nine Realms, after all. "Am I . . . am I going to take her place as your lady-in-waiting?"

The Queen smiled with undisguised amusement. "I'm not in the habit of taking in children as my servants, Little Sif."

She made no other comment, and I didn't dare ask anymore questions.

The lady returned faster than I expected, my black cloak and a fresh frock draped over one arm. The Queen herself unbuttoned my grimy, crumpled green dress and wrestled it over my head; on went the clean dress of muted blue. The lady produced a brush from a bag at her waist; the Queen sat down, placed me in front of her, and proceeded to untangle my golden tresses.

I braced myself, expecting painful jerks and yanks of my head in this direction or that—but whether the brush itself was magical or the magic came from the Queen's fingers, the brush glided easily until my hair gleamed in the warm light of the water room. The Queen deftly braided it and wrapped it around my head, then drew the hood of my cloak over my head and stepped back to examine her work.

"She's a pretty little thing, isn't she?" she asked, smiling proudly and gently at me.

"Yes, Your Majesty," the lady said, returning the warm smile.

I blushed so deeply, I'm sure I was the same shade of red as my cloak.

When we emerged from the water room, my mother's body no longer lay on the table. The nurses had taken her for the funeral preparations. I felt again the dull weight of grief, as if someone had laid something heavy and painful on my chest. But then the Queen took my hand, led me up the stone steps out of the healing room, and I felt the warm sun bathe my face.

The palace of Asgard, made entirely of gold, seemed even more enormous than usual the closer we approached it. I gripped the outer railing of the Queen's hovership, my mouth falling open in amazement as the jet-black ravens, the ones that constantly swooped around the palace, came to rest atop the ship's stern, cocking their heads at me and then giving me what I thought to be very approving glances through their small red eyes.

"Don't be afraid of the ravens," the Queen encouraged me. "They'll do you no harm."

"Oh, I'm not scared!" I cried happily. "They're so pretty!"

And then I gulped, afraid that maybe I'd spoken too loudly or too eagerly. I glanced over my shoulder at the Queen, but she only laughed and patted my back.

"Yes," she said, "they are indeed very pretty."

We flew through the gates and the hovership came to rest. The Queen, Lady Orla—as she'd introduced herself to me—and I stepped out. Instinctively, I grabbed hold of the Queen's hand and kept close to her skirts. I'd never been in any other room of the palace but the great hall, and then it had been full of courtiers. Today the great hall was empty, as was the King's throne. It seemed odd, to pass it without him sitting there wearing his helmet and carrying his scepter.

I tugged on the Queen's hand. "Is the King on holiday, milady?"

Again the Queen laughed. "The King doesn't always sit on his throne, child. Don't you think he'd grow dull and bored, sitting there in front of an empty hall day in a day out? No, he lives and eats and plays with his children like any other man. You'll see."

She turned into a corridor in which the sun streamed through dozens of tall, narrow windows. An open door at the end led into what appeared to be a garden. As we crossed over the threshhold, I let out a gasp of delight. It _was_ a garden, but nothing like the small, cozy courtyard at home. It was gigantic. Huge trees, a crystal-clear pond filled with orange, yellow, and red fish, flowers of every size, shape, and color, winding paths filled with colorful gravel, ravens digging for worms in the soft, springy, dark-green grass . . .

"Oh, oh, oh!" I cried. "Oh, it's _beautiful!_"

"I'm glad you think so," the Queen said, leading me down one of the rainbow-like paths. "I fashioned it myself."

I stared up at her, speechless, wondering how she could've made a garden. But the Queen only smiled and gave my hand a squeeze.

Just ahead, on one of the spacious grassy areas, a man and two little boys engaged in sparring practice. I stared at them with interest. All three held toy swords, even the older man—no one would be truly hurt if they were struck—but all three seemed passionately involved. They hardly noticed us as we approached, so quickly did they move and so intently were they focused on each other. Not even the smaller of the boys glanced in our direction. He moved quicker than the taller boy, but the latter was clearly the stronger of the two and the most skilled.

"Enough, enough!" the man chuckled, lowering his sword. "A word of counsel to you, Son: if you mean to practice with your brother, I forbid you to fight as enthusiastically with him as you do with me. He'll have a cracked skull for certain."

"Oh Father, that'll be no fun at all!" the smaller boy said, grinning from ear to ear at his taller brother. The bigger boy grinned back and, with a twist of his wrist, flourished his toy sword so gracefully that I wanted nothing more than to get my hands on it and try that myself.

"Don't worry," the bigger boy said, "I won't crack his skull. I'll just give him the flat of my sword _here_—" and with that he smacked his brother's backside with the flat of the wooden blade. The smaller boy yelped and sprang forward as if to tackle his brother—and I promptly burst out laughing.

The sound brought the man and the two boys to a sudden halt. I clapped my hands over my mouth, as much from embarrassment as from utter shock. The man—tall, slightly stooped, his golden hair flecked with white—wore an eyepatch. That would be the Allfather. As for the two boys—well, one was golden-haired and freckled, the other pale but with hair as black as my slippers. There was no mistaking _them_, not after overhearing my mother's many complaints about their antics.

Awkwardly, I started to drop to my knees, but the Queen gave my hand a quick little pull and kept me on my feet. She stepped forward swiftly, her regal face smiling but strangely hard and determined as she met the King's eyes.

"My Lord," she said, her voice very calm, "Lady Ingrid has passed."

The King tilted his head back, his one eye flitting from her face to mine and then back to the Queen. "I see . . ."

"And as she was my lady, I have taken it upon myself to raise her child. As my own."

The King said nothing, merely switched his gaze from me to the Queen and back again, as if he was trying to decide or deduce something about us both. My heart started beating so loud, I was sure he could hear it.

"What is your name, child?" the King asked, in a gentle voice.

"S-S-Sif," I stuttered. My face turned red again and I glanced, self-consciously, at the two boys. They stared at me with unconcealed curiosity and—to my surprise—sympathy.

"Sif," the King repeated softly. He tossed his wooden sword lightly to the ground. "A word with you, Frigga?"

"Of course," the Queen said, bending quickly to my eye level. "Stay here, little one. I'll be right back."

I watched as she fell into step with the King and they walked, leisurely, towards the other end of the garden. My mouth felt dry. If the King said no, that the Queen couldn't take in a lowly lady-in-waiting's child, then it would be the Orphans' House for me. And who was I to question the Allfather's choice? Mother always said there was a purpose in all that he did, no matter how unpleasant or confusing it might seem to the rest of us.

"Hey."

I whirled, startled by the voice. It was the bigger of the two boys, the golden-haired one. He grinned at me, his bright blue eyes, and held out the hilt of one of the wooden swords to me.

"Want to play?" he asked.

The smaller boy scrunched up his nose. "Oh come on, Thor. She's a girl."

"So?" Thor and I said at exactly the same moment. I reddened under his surprised gaze and dropped my eyes.

"So," the smaller boy said, hesitantly now, "girls don't like to play war. They like . . . you know . . . dolls and—and dresses. Right?"

"Not me," I said, a little too fiercely. "I like . . . dogs. Dogs, a-and books, and swords."

The smaller boy stepped forward, grey eyes dancing now with interest. "I love dogs! Whatabout cats? Do you like cats?"

"Oh yes! And horses. My mother comes—" I stopped, choking on my words. "I mean . . . she _came_ from a family that bred horses for the court's stables."

"Well then, if those are the things you like, you're as good as a boy for all we're concerned," the bigger boy said with a clear, bright laugh. He held out his hand to me—which, I noticed, was bandaged across the palm. "I'm Thor. This is Loki."

I took his hand gingerly, trying not to aggravate the wound beneath the thick bandage, but he grasped mine and shook it as firmly as if he were an upgrown and not a boy hardly older than myself. Loki's handshake was gentler, and he gave me a soft, slightly mischievous smile that I found rather charming.

"Right," Thor said, handing the wooden sword to me again. "Your father was Lord Eryk?"

I nodded.

"You must know a good bit about fighting then?"

"A—a little," I said. _More than Mother would've liked_, I added silently.

"Show me, then," he said, lifting his wooden sword.

"Fine, but please don't crack my skull," I said dryly.

Thor's eyes widened, and then he laughed. I found myself grinning back at him—and then I gripped the wooden hilt with both hands and rushed at him. He let out a cry of surprise and raised his sword to block mine. As the wooden blades crossed, my own eyes widened; I sensed his strength, unusual for a boy his age and size. Gritting my teeth, I gave him a hard push and he staggered backward.

"You're good!" he cried. "All right, I want her on my team. Loki, form your army!"

A mischievous grin broke out over Loki's delicate features. At the sudden flash of green, I jumped back with a startled squeal. Where there had been one small, green-clad son of Odin, there were now five.

"Run!" Thor shouted, grabbing my hand and dragging me to the right so fast, I almost lost my balance and fell sprawling on my face. With a delighted laugh, Loki lunged at me; I shrieked and swung my wooden sword clumsily at him. Loki—or rather, Loki's double—ducked and pranced away, laughing his little head off.

"I'll cut you off!" he cried. "There's no place you can hide!"

"Fat chance!" Thor shouted back, his blue eyes dancing. He glanced at me over his shoulder and grinned. "We'll outsmart him. Quick, up here before he catches us!"

He threw open a short iron gate in what had, at first, appeared to be nothing more than a high, sculpted hedgerow curving over the pond. I saw now that, in the middle of the hedgerow, there was a very narrow path made of wooden boards, like a bridge. A hedgerow bridge.

Our feet pounded on the wooden boards until we were at the very top, looking down over the shining pond and the rest of the garden. The wind rustled through my yellow hair and I looked, intrigued, for the Allfather and Queen Frigga. There they were, on the far side of the garden, still talking.

Deciding my fate.

I'd been breathing through my mouth the whole time; now I closed my mouth and swallowed, looking to Thor for the next move. He leaned back against the hedgerow with a very satisfied look on his face.

"What do we do now?" I asked, anxious.

"What do we do?" He smirked, shrugged one shoulder. "We wait for Loki."

"_What?_" I cried. "Why don't we just go and find him and tackle all his little doubles? We can take him on!"

"Well, certainly," Thor said, "but why not just let him give up?"

"He will not give up!" I shouted, stamping my foot. "He could send all the doubles up either side of this bridge and corner us!"

Thor threw back his head and laughed. He seemed to enjoy doing that. Only a few moments ago I'd thought it the nicest sound I'd heard in a while, but right now I suddenly wanted very much to slap him.

"Loki—Loki isn't coming up this bridge," he said, choking with giggles. "He's scared of—of _heights!_"

My mouth fell open. I whirled, saw Loki standing at the very bottom of the bridge, his hands on his hips and an irritated look on his face.

"Come on down and play fair!" he cried.

Thor shook his head, trembling now with barely-suppressed giggles.

"_Thor, don't be an idiot!_" Loki screamed.

"Ah now, wait a minute!" Thor squeaked. "You're always playing tricks on me, now it's my turn!"

Loki's eyebrows plunged—but then his thin lips formed a slow, mischievous smirk. Footsteps on the other side of the bridge caught my attention. I turned, expecting to see perhaps the King and Queen coming to announce their decision to me. Instead Thor grabbed my arm, his eyes wide with a terror that, if I hadn't been completely caught up in the play myself, would've been outrageously funny.

"Run, Sif, run!" he shrieked.

Coming up from the other side of the bridge were four little Lokis. The doubles, of course— but I had no idea if they were capable of taking us captive or what the real Loki intended for them to do. All I knew was that Thor was pushing me in one direction and I had no choice but to scramble down that bridge as fast as I could.

"Got you!" Loki cried, grabbing my arm as I reached the bottom. "Got you, too!"

"Unhand me, Loki!" Thor bellowed.

Loki all but danced with delight. "I accept your surrender, I accept—!"

Thor pummeled him to the ground and the two boys rolled back and forth, each trying to pin the other down. The force of the two brothers colliding had sent me stumbling; I scrambled to my feet again, brushing grass stains from my skirt, screaming and cheering and jumping up and down. My loyalties were less than solid; one moment I shrieked "Get him Loki, get him!" and the next, "You've got him, Thor, pin him!"

"_What is the meaning of all this?_"

I froze and so did the boys, Loki with his knees planted squarely on Thor's chest, Thor with mud and grass all in his hair. The King and Queen stood over us, feigning horror but unable to hide their amusement. The Queen raised her eyebrows at my stained, torn skirt. I stepped away from the boys, clasped my hands behind my back, and lowered my head.

"I'm sorry, my Quee—"

"The first thing you must learn, Lady Sif," the King cut me off, "is that unnecessary apologies are not allowed in my home. You beg forgiveness when—and only when—it is necessary. Humility is noble. Timidity is not."

I stared at him, stunned. "Y-y-yes, Your Majesty."

"And the second thing," he went on, his stern face softening, "is that the Queen has taken full responsibility for you and your upbringing. You will live with us here at the palace, as her ward and student. Do I have your word that you will do all you can to live up to such an honor?"

My eyes flitted to the Queen. She smiled and gave me a small, encouraging nod. I gulped and nodded hard, my suddenly-sweaty hands clenching my skirts. It was the only way to keep them from shaking from sheer relief.

"Yes, Your Majesty," I whispered. "You have my word."

* * *

><p><strong>Yes, I know Sif has dark hair in the movies...but while some of this story will come solely from my own imagination, I <em>am<em> going to borrow details from Norse mythology as well as from the comics/movies. And in the mythology, Sif starts out with golden hair. **

**Yep...you know you're an official Thor fan when you're spending time reading ancient Norse stories ;) **

**I'm actually making progress with this one (apologies to the readers of _Damian Goes To Smallville _and _Changed for Good..._those have fallen by the wayside), so there'll be another update very soon!**


	2. The King's Vault

**Thanks for the reviews! I got bogged down with my novel again, but here's the next chapter! **

* * *

><p>The next evening, my mother sailed towards the Great Waterfall. One of the palace guards shot a fiery arrow into the barge and I watched, my eyes brimming with tears, as the flames leaped up and licked at crimson clothes draped over her bed. But before the fire could reach her, the boat sailed over the falls and my mother's spirit, a cluster of blue sparks, rose into the night sky.<p>

I was silent on the way back to the palace, sitting beside the Queen with her arm around my shoulders. I didn't even dare to look at Thor and Loki. I couldn't stand to meet Thor's large, gentle blue eyes or the strange, haunted look in Loki's grey ones. The King, while kind, offered little by way of comfort except to assure me, as I bade him goodnight, that my mother had been a good woman, a noble wife, a true mother.

"Thank you, Your Majesty," I whispered, hardly able to hear myself.

Alone in my new bedroom, I clambered into bed and jerked the heavy blankets over myself. For a little while, I listened to the crackling of the fire on the hearth and the muffled sounds of the sleepy city below. Before I could stop it, a sob burst from my mouth. I turned my face into the pillow and began to cry.

I don't know how long I lay there, shaking with sobs, but at some point I heard the door creak open. I gasped and jerked my head up—and there stood Thor in his sky-blue nightshirt, his hand on the knob. He looked at me with deep concern.

"Sif? Are you all right?"

"No!" I wailed, burying my face in the pillow again. "Oh, just leave me alone!"

I didn't hear the door shut. I did hear his bare feet as they padded on the smooth stone floor, and the bed creaking as he climbed up and crawled closer to me. I sobbed even harder at the touch of his hand on my shoulder, patting awkwardly.

"It's all right, Sif," he whispered. "It's all right."

I sniffed loudly. Thor crawled over on the other side so he could see my face. I looked up at him in the firelight and was suddenly glad that it wasn't Loki looking down at me like that. I never knew if I could take Loki seriously. Thor was honest to a fault. I'd learned that all too well over the past twenty-four hours.

"I suppose it's silly for me to say 'it's all right,' " Thor whispered, "when it's not me who's lost a mother, father, and baby brother or sister in a couple of weeks."

"Yes, you're utterly clueless," I whimpered.

Thor cocked his golden head to one side. "Did you love your mother?"

"Of course I loved my mother!" I cried, almost bolting upright. "What do you think I am?"

He held up his palms, an appeasing gesture. "I'm just trying to get to know you, Sif."

I hesitated, my anger dying down again. Thor shivered and rubbed his upper arms. My heart softened; I bit my lip, then lifted my blanket. Looking relieved, he dove underneath them and laid his head about six inches from my own.

"I loved my mother," I whispered. "She was beautiful. But she . . . she wasn't as kind as your mother."

"No?" Thor whispered.

I shook my head against the pillow. "She didn't like me to play with my toy sword, or with Father's dogs. I had a bow and arrow, too. Do you have one?"

Thor nodded. "You can shoot?"

"Mm-hmm." I covered my head to hide a yawn. "She wanted me to play with her dolls. I don't like dolls. And she didn't think I needed to read many books. But I _love_ books, Thor . . . especially the history ones."

"Me too," he whispered. "Do you like the story about the Dark Elves?"

My eyes widened with delight. "Ooh, yes!"

"Mother tells that story well," he said, smiling a bit sleepily. "Loki likes the Book of Spells."

"He would," I laughed softly. "Looking for new tricks to play on everybody, right?"

He nodded again, his eyelids drooping. "Mother . . . Mother likes to play tricks, too . . . she taught him how to make the doubles . . ."

"Does she ever double herself?" I asked. My own voice was beginning to sound faint, too.

"Sometimes."

"Does she know how to use a sword?"

Thor's eyes closed, but he smiled. "Oh, yes."

"Will she teach me?"

"I hope so."

My own eyes felt so heavy and prickly, it was a struggle keeping them open. I reached over to Thor and found his hand. With his last shred of awareness, he gave my fingers a little squeeze—and then we drifted off to sleep.

* * *

><p>For two weeks after that I was plagued with nightmares. Nightmares of my father falling in battle, an axe thrown through his broad chest. Of my mother decomposing on the healing room table. Of running through a dark corridor, barefoot, hearing my baby sibling wailing hungrily but not being able to reach it and comfort it.<p>

More often than not I'd wake up either screaming or crying—and more often than not, Thor would run in, take a flying leap, and land on the mattress so hard, I'd bounce an inch or two upwards. While I sobbed into my pillow he would pat my shoulder, and when I finally quieted he would ask, "Do you want me to stay?" I'd whimper and nod; he'd slip underneath my blankets, squeeze my hand, and go to sleep.

He'd always sneak out again before Lady Orla came in to wake me. We both would've been embarrassed if anyone found out, especially Loki. I didn't want Loki to think me weak, and I don't think Thor wanted his brother to think him a softheart.

Finally there came a day where I didn't feel the weight of grief so heavily. The dreams faded and I began to adjust to life in the Allfather's palace. It was quiet, for the most part. The Queen kept me close beside her the greater part of the time—though I couldn't say all her plans for me were exceptionally pleasant.

Regardless of what Thor said of her swordsmanship, his mother was a lady first and foremost. She reminded me of the sea on a calm day, mighty in its stillness. She never raised her voice, not even with her rowdy sons; her hands were always busy, but always with some kind of womanly craft, like embroidery or weaving.

These things she set about teaching me, as well, in her quiet, beautifully-furnished chambers. We would sit on the balcony overlooking the city and the shimmering rainbow bridge that led to the Bifrost and the gatekeeper Heimdall's observatory; while the Queen guided my fingers, I'd stick the end of my tongue out at the corner of my mouth, swing my legs, and try to follow her instructions as best as I could with the brightly-colored threads.

One day, long after I'd mastered the embroidery long enough to start my own project, I let out a heavy sigh without even realizing it. The Queen, sitting across from me with her own hoop, glanced up from her work.

"What troubles you, Sif?"

I looked up with a start. "Nothing, milady. Nothing at all."

She cocked her head to one side with a knowing smile. "Does it bore you?"

I felt my eyes widen in shock, but I shook my head doggedly. "No, milady. Not at all."

"Don't lie, child," the Queen said, her smile deepening.

I bit my lower lip, ashamed and embarrassed. My attempts, then, to hide how much I disliked these "feminine hobbies" had been an utter failure. Better to be honest now than to try to keep up an unconvincing charade.

"Embroidery is a _shade_ more enjoyable than dolls," I said, trying to sound optimistic.

Queen Frigga suddenly laughed. I stared at her, surprised and delighted. I hadn't heard her laugh like that yet.

"Well, perhaps I have something you'd prefer," she said. "Orla?"

Lady Orla, sitting in the corner, stepped forward. "Yes, milady?"

"Bring in the easel and the paints for Lady Sif."

Lady Orla curtsied and left the room; when she came back, it was with a wooden easel and a white square beneath one arm, the fingers of her other hand wrapped around the handle of a wooden box. She pushed away the embroidery hoop and unfolded the easel, then set the square upon it. The box, too, unfolded into a small table, and upon it were two dozen different colors, golds and silvers and reds and blues and greens. There were also several slender pencils and varying sizes of paintbrushes.

"There now," the Queen said, rising from her seat and rustling the brushes with her fingertips. "You should have everything you need for your first painting—or sketch, whatever you like. One more thing, Orla: an apron to protect her skirts."

"What should I draw?" I asked, breathless with delight.

"Whatever pleases you." She smiled, ran her hand over my hair, and then returned to her work.

I bit my lip again, this time to hold back a squeal, as I took up the pencil and looked around. _Whatever pleases me? _The trees on either side of the balcony? The view of the domed Bifrost and the bridge? The bridge would be fun with the paints.

I had all the colors of the rainbow at my disposal. Quickly, eagerly, I sketched the dome and the narrow bridge stretched out from it to the palace. My lines weren't exactly straight and my dome looked lopsided—but once I had a sketch that pleased me, I dipped a paintbrush in the gold paint. It appeared to have some kind of glitter in it; as I spread it over my dome, it glinted in the afternoon sunshine.

The bridge was trickier than I expected. In reality it was almost transparent, colors flickering here and there, changing according to the position of the viewer and the sun. I frowned, stuck my tongue out again, and painted the bridge silver. Then dots of color here and there. It didn't quite capture the same effect; as I peered over the balcony railing, my spirits sank.

"What are you doing, Sif?"

The Queen and I both gasped; I whirled on my stool. There stood Loki, grey eyes narrowed at my work and hands clasped behind his back.

"Loki, you shouldn't sneak in here like that," the Queen said. "Lady Orla—"

"He—he didn't knock," Lady Orla stammered. "He just . . . appeared."

"Loki," the Queen said, sternly, "what have I told you about that trick?"

The little prince smiled, rocked on his heels. "Well . . . that I shouldn't use it on unsuspecting old folk . . . that I can't use it on the walls of Father's council chamber when he's meeting with other realm leaders or Heimdall . . . that I can't use it in the middle of the night when people are sleeping—although I did do that once—"

"Loki!" the Queen cried, aghast.

He quickly raised one hand, index finger at the ceiling. "But only with Thor and Sif. When he goes to keep her company after she has a nightmare."

I blushed as red as the paint on my table and glared at him. The Queen raised a questioning eyebrow at me. Loki pretended not to notice and leaned forward on his tiptoes, staring at my work again.

"So what are you doing?"

"I'm painting," I said, trying to sound calm and superior.

"Oooh." Surprisingly, there was no mockery in his voice. He grabbed a smaller paintbrush, turned his big grey eyes up at me. "May I?"

I shrugged. "Sure."

He smiled, glanced around, then ran over to the fountain in one corner. Water poured through the wide golden bowl ceaselessly, its gentle sound filling the room; Loki took a silver cup, filled it with water, and brought it back to the paint table. He dipped the paintbrush into it, then loaded the wet brush with red paint. Then, with the deftness of a master painter, he dragged the faint red over my silver bridge.

The effect was instant. Instead of the garish red dots, the color now streaked, transparent, over the bridge.

"Let me try, let me try!" I cried. I grabbed another brush, dipped it in the water and then in the

green. While Loki continued his red streaks and moved on to yellow, I focused on the green and blue. Our delighted giggles and eager suggestions to each other soon brought Queen Frigga to her feet, a curious look on her face.

"Look, Mother!" Loki cried. "What do you think?"

She took in our painting with one long gaze, a slow, pleased smile widening over her lips. "I think . . . I think I have two promising young artists on my hands."

Loki turned pink up to his ears, looking as if his mother had handed him the moon; in the few weeks I'd lived here, I'd never seen him so happy and proud. I sat on my hands and swung my legs happily. If the Queen permitted, I'd have no qualms about recreating my world on a canvas everyday.

That afternoon, as Loki and I hurried out of the Queen's chambers to prepare ourselves for the evening's usual banquet in the Great Hall, I grabbed his hand.

"Please oh _please_ come paint with me, Loki," I whispered, squeezing his fingers. "Just watch. We'll be the best artists in all of Asgard! I'll sketch the drawings and you can work with the colors—and the minstrels will sing about us and our works before we're upgrowns!"

Loki grinned. "You think I'm that good?"

"Loki, my bridge looked _rotten _before you brought that water to the table."

He giggled. "Aye, it did."

I smirked and gave his arm a playful punch. Loki drew in a sharp, pained gasp. I looked at him with a start, cried out as he crumpled; he crashed to his knees, holding his arm with a gut-wrenching groan.

My stomach lurched. I fell to my knees beside him and wrapped an arm around his shoulders.

"Loki! Loki, I'm sorry! I didn't mean to hurt you, I swear—"

" 'Course you didn't mean to," he whispered through clenched teeth—and before I could react, he catapulted to his feet with a clear, ringing laugh.

"I got you!" he squealed. "I got you! I tricked you so badly, Sif! Oh, your _face!_"

My mouth fell open and for a moment I couldn't decide whether to laugh or take revenge.

_Both. Both is good._

"You _wicked _boy!" I cried—but with a very clear laugh, to let him know I didn't mean it, not in the slightest. I lunged for him and he darted out of the way; I lifted my skirts, he took to his heels, and we chased each other all the way upstairs, shrieking and giggling loud enough to wake the dead.

* * *

><p>One warm afternoon I found myself alone. The Queen had gone to visit an old, sick noblewoman elsewhere in the city, and I was left to my own devices.<p>

Why I decided to explore the palace, I hardly knew. I only knew that I was bored and curious; I'd lived in this sprawling building for nearly two months now, as the Asgardians count months, and had never peeked into every room.

Now I wanted to give myself an adventure, and I was determined to do it in style. Thor gave

me one of the wooden swords a few days ago, and I strapped it to the girdle of my mint-green dress. A servant brought my lunch to me on a tray; when he was gone, I slipped the cold meat, cheese, and orange into a pack over my other shoulder, and set out.

More often than not, the doors were locked. Some of the rooms were occupied by various knights and their ladies, and they'd probably learned from past experience with certain mischievous princes to guard their privacy well. But occasionally I'd find an empty bedroom, lavishly furnished, or a library, or a gallery filled with gleaming suits of armor or tapestries telling the histories of each of the Nine Realms.

I had my picnic in a windowless corridor, somewhere between the tapestry room and the wine cellar. With no one to scold me for atrocious manners, I wiped my fingers on my skirt and moved on towards the next door. To my surprise, there were two guards on either side of it, both of them holding golden spears and wearing helmets. I looked up at them; their unblinking eyes flickered, and they glanced down at me.

I smiled brightly. They smiled back, amused and maybe glad for someone to talk to.

"Hello," I said.

"Well, hello there," one of them said cheerfully.

"What's in there?" I asked, pointing at the heavy wooden door behind them.

They glanced at each other; then the other said, "That is the Relic Chamber, milady."

"Oh. Can I go in?"

"It's all right," the first guard whispered. "She's the little girl the Queen took in." Then, in a louder voice, he added, "Certainly, milady . . . but only for ten minutes."

I nodded, my heart quickening its pace; I hadn't yet gone in a guarded room. The second guard unlocked the door, and I peeked in.

Bluish light filled the chilly, narrow room. As I stepped forward, I realized the room was lined with strange objects on pedestals, objects I didn't recognize and some of which hummed as if they were living, energized things. A glowing red box here . . . a diamond bigger than any of the diamonds in the Queen's tiara there . . . a long, curved scepter . . . a hammer.

And at the end of the room, a blue light. I crept closer. No, that wasn't quite right . . . it was a capsule and the blue light flowed inside it, almost like fluid. I narrowed my eyes. The light was brightest in the center of the capsule. Before I could stop myself, I lifted my hand and tapped the capsule with my forefinger.

"_Sif!_"

I let out a terrified squeak and whirled, pressing my back against the pedestal. There, in the doorway, stood the Allfather. His golden eyepatch glinted in the queer blue light.

"What are you doing?" he asked, his voice not at all unkind, but definitely firm.

"I—I—"

"Speak up!"

I gulped, my heart pounding so hard I was sure he could hear it in this quiet, echoing room. I didn't, _couldn't_ say a word.

Odin released a heavy sigh, then descended the steps from the door and moved towards me. His silk robes rustled. When he reached me, he brought my hand away from my mouth.

"If you continue with that," he said, smiling ever so slightly, "you'll have no fingernails to speak of. And I don't think the Queen would be pleased with that."

I gave a start and glanced down at my hand. I hadn't even realized I was biting my nails. The King chuckled, a low, pleasant sound, and laid a hand on my shoulder.

"Come now," he said. "This is not a place for little girls."

"The guard said—"

"I know, and I already chastised him for it. _Gently_," he added quickly, seeing my alarm. "It's not that I don't trust you. It isn't in your nature, nor in your fate, to strike any blow against Asgard. But there _are_ enemies who are constantly seeking an opportunity to steal any of these relics and use them against us. I wouldn't like to see them sneaking past guards who see only an innocent and very curious child."

"No one else came in with me, I promise!" I cried.

"I know," Odin said, shutting the door behind us with a stern look at the two sheepish guards. "But who's to say that someone possessing dark _seidr _might not have been lurking, invisible, in this corridor, waiting for an opportunity for that door to open so they could slip inside?"

I swallowed again, hard, and glanced over my shoulder at the door. Odin gently turned me again, and I realized he was leading me back upstairs.

"You may return to that room," he said, "but only if you're with me or the Queen. Do you understand what I'm saying, Little Sif?"

"Yes," I murmured.

"You won't disobey me?"

"Oh no, no, never!" _Disobey the Allfather? I might as well sign my own death warrant. _

"Good," he said. Then he reached down and squeezed my hand, and when I looked up at him I saw him smiling kindly, and with genuine interest. I decided I could start breathing again. I wasn't in real trouble after all.

"My sons tell me you're quite the tomboy," he said, his one good eye twinkling. He gestured towards the wooden sword on my hip. "Not many little girls your age are so interested in boys' play. But I suppose we should expect it, from the daughter of Eryk Leifson."

I smiled sheepishly. "It's fun."

"What is?"

"Boys' play." I skipped a bit to keep up with his long, heavy strides. "Besides, there aren't any girls my age to play with. Just Thor and Loki. They're lots of fun, as long as they're not fighting with each other."

Odin chuckled again, and this time it was a deep, cheerful rumble. "Ah, yes. Well, I charge you with keeping them from each other's throats. Do you think you could do that for me? I would rather see them live to manhood than kill each other over some petty toy or game before they come of age."

I giggled. "I think I can do that. Even if I'm smaller than them, I can pull Thor's hair and give Loki a slap if I have to."

At that, Odin threw his grey head back, and he _laughed_. Not a chuckle, but a true, loud, deep _laugh_. The halls rang with the sound and I felt something warm and golden spread through my whole being. It had been an overcast day, but as we emerged into a corridor with windows I saw the sun streak, abruptly, through the clouds. Nothing could've convinced me in that moment that anything but the Allfather's laughter had brought on such a beautiful effect.

"Yes, yes, you do that, Sif!" the King said, still laughing. "It would be the best thing for those boys—for a little maiden to strike them off their high horses!"


End file.
